


A Double-Edged Sword

by loveIace



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, HUGE C2E26 spoilers, Not Graphic (?) Description of Violence, This is my first fic since middle school i don’t know what im doing i just have a lot of emotions ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 20:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15275559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveIace/pseuds/loveIace
Summary: All he has ever known is pain.And it is pain that defines life.-Basically a study of Mollymauk's life and how it all led up to that hell of an ending!





	A Double-Edged Sword

He thought about the first time he saw snow. 

It had been shortly after joining the circus. He was still distant, stuck in a frightful haze that neither he nor anyone else truly understood or knew how to handle. By now, he had his name. He had an identity. He was still building a sense of his self, but it was a start. 

The nights leading up to it had been bitterly cold, the coldest he had ever experienced up to that point. Unlike the coolness he awoke to in the grave and dirt, this one did not cradle him and suffocate him, but instead pierced his flesh and throat, made each breath crisp and sharp. It hurt almost. But it was hurt that reminded one that they were alive. 

One morning, he woke up to a world that was quiet. As he had learned already, the world was hardly a silent place, especially with a circus around. Molly rose from his sleeping sack and quietly made his way over other sleeping bodies and to the flap of the tent. Gingerly and with extreme care as to not shatter the silence that encapsulated them, he peeled back the flap of the tent and peered out. 

A white blanket covered the ground, completely smooth and without flaw as far as the eye could see, only misshapen as it accommodated the landscape. The sun had not yet rose, but the few rays that managed to peer over the horizon have life to the white as it twinkled and refracted the light into brilliant crystals. 

Molly stepped forward and felt as the dusting landed in his hair, fluttered into his eyelashes, burned his lungs with such clean fire that cleared away the rot and dirt and suffocation that drowned him and lingered in him. 

It gave new life. 

-

He thought about the first time he inked his flesh. 

He has woken up with haunting red eyes across his body. No matter how much he ripped at the skin, tried to peel them away or burn them off or do anything to cleanse himself of the overwhelming mist that created his past, he could not get rid of them. He could not get rid of who he once was. 

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make it his own. 

Peacocks had fascinated Molly ever since one of the older women in the circus showed him a drawing in one of the many books she had with her and used to give him some context and understand of the world. The colors and extravagant display enthralled him, and the piercing eyes of their shields gave the same sense of unease and hesitance his own eyes conveyed. 

So there he sat, the nameless artist of the coast in hand with a wicked looking needle and multiple vials of ink. 

“You ready for this?” The mans voice was gruff. “Shouldn’t hurt more than these other ones did,”

Molly opened his mouth to speak but pursed his lips together. How would he even respond? Instead, he nodded and breathed out deeply, squeezing his eye shut as the hand descended to his collarbone. 

The needle bit into his skin and he grimaced, his thighs straining and his nails digging into them, claws puncturing through his loose pants and into his skin. But after a few minutes of tense shock, the adrenaline kicked in his system, and a buzz of calm and almost euphoria flooded his system. It hurt, but it was grounding. It hurt, but it was the pain that made him earn his self, made him earn the life he was given. He earned this. It was his. 

-

He thought about the first time he was recognized. 

A foreign name spilled from a strangers lips as his face was cupped into rough, calloused hands. Frightened, Molly froze, gazing into the searching eyes of the elderly half-elf as they peered at him. The look was fierce and almost violent and Molly felt disgustingly exposed and vulnerable and lurching dread and he yanked out of his grasp, staggering back a few steps in the market place. 

“I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not,” his voice, usually so light and airy trembled as he spoke and he cursed himself for allowing himself to be so open, so frightened. 

The man moved to speak again and grasped his upper arm and the touch felt like a white hot iron clasped around his flesh. Molly yanked his arm back violently, still staggering back and trembling, clutching the spot he was touched with a shaking hand. 

“I’m Molly! I don’t know who you want, but I’m not them! I’m Molly!” His voice was hysterical and wobbled as violently as his body. 

The invasive eyes continued to pierce into his own and Molly had the sick sensation of being laid out for all to see, to be completely blind and in the hands of one who could see and understand far more than he could imagine. It terrified him. 

He ran. He ran through the streets, stumbling over his steps, feeling the hysteria wash over him and bring crashing waves of nausea and a pain so unlike anything from before, that tore him open until he was raw and quivering. 

Finally, alone in a back alley, he hunched over himself and fell to his knees, allowing the pain burn through his core and tear apart his very being. After a few minutes of this, it eased up, and he was able to open his bleary eyes again at the world. The wave of agony was a renewal. Despite his crisis only half an hour earlier, he know understood what it meant to be alive as Molly. 

-

A whole life in two years. Each day, new experiences and sensations and knowledge flooded his brain, brought him closer to understanding the world in which he lived and laughed and loved. 

In two years, he learned what the early song of morning doves sounded like as the sun rose in a green field. He learned how summer rain could energize and refresh you and clear away the smoke from the campfire from the previous night. He learned how a generous tip to the aging barmaid could have her face crack into a delighted smile, bringing youth and new life to her stagnant features. 

He learned how to love fiercely and to open his heart to new families. He learned that navigating his way through the world and experiencing life for the first time is fun, but it is infinitely better with company. He learned to trust, and then not to trust, and then to trust again. 

He learned what it meant to lose someone- to really lose them, in the truest sense of the word. And then how to open up again and create new parts of his hearts for others. 

And then he learned how it felt for that to be ripped from him again, this time leaving three holes in his chest, gaping and bleeding. The pain drove him on, drove him to fight and kick and scream for what is his. 

For what is theirs. 

-

He thinks about last night. 

A group of- friends?- party members?- family?- set up camp, a buzz of anxiety hanging over the group as their plans are finalized and ready to enact with the dawn of the next day. 

The chilled air makes Molly reminisce, creates a tugging pull of nostalgia in his chest. Instead of brushing these feelings aside, he holds on to them tight. It is what gave him life. It is what gives him purpose. 

A little awkwardly, the group huddled together closely in the shelter of their tent, keeping close to preserve heat. Molly finds himself in the middle, his tiefling blood serving as a furnace for the others. As they settle in for the night and their breathing drips with heavy sleep, Molly finds him melting into the comfort of the situation at hand. 

While a little hesitant about their new addition, a strong attachment had been nurtured and growing the past few weeks he had found himself with the Mighty Nein. The pain of losing their members still lingered in his heart, but he fought the overwhelming negative sensations by focusing on what he still has. Together, they will fight for what’s theirs. They’ll get their friends back. 

-

His power fails him, and Mollymauk falls from his perch above the world. He falls and falls and it is the blade of a sword sinking deep within his chest, rupturing his lung and scraping along his bones, that brings him back to earth. 

A gurgled gasp escapes from his lips as his body convulsives, first inwards towards the wound as though to cover it, and then outwards, his body repulsed from the foreign metal digging into his flesh, his back arched and eyes wide in disbelief. 

His mind reels, his body spasms violently, further cutting into his wound, but it is beyond control. The world is fire and all he knows is pain. 

All he has ever known is pain. 

And it is pain that defines life. 

He remembers all the moments of his two years. He remembers the wonder and the desire to know and see the world, to understand the ground from which he rose. He remembers the biting taste of peppers, the burn of ale in his throat and stomach, the different yet similar burn that came as he vomited the alcohol back up after a night of too many. 

He remembers the loneliness that would eat away at his insides when Yasha left, and the all consuming burn of ecstasy when she returned. He knew what it felt to be punched and punch in return, the dull stinging of his knuckles after a satisfying blow. 

He remembers the frustration as he navigated his way with this new party, desperately attempting to coax some sort of solidarity between them all and find trust. He remembers cutting his own skin, using his powers to defend these people because his mind screamed to give them a chance, to find a new family in them. 

As his mind begins to sleep further, the fire in his body began to die down, only becoming the warm embers from a campfire from the night before. The dulled sensations after a life of sharp and vibrant experiences is more unbearable than the alternative. As the pain leaves him, he looks into the face of his attacker. 

And with his last breath, he grins wickedly, blood staining his teeth, and spits at the man.

**Author's Note:**

> OK so first off, I wrote this at 2 am immediately after the episode because y’all already know I was having some strong emotions. 
> 
> I haven’t written or published a fic in years but this was just a huge inspiration and I have so many emotions right now I just had to. Sorry if it’s a bit rusty, I’m hoping to develop a style again as I continue to write! 
> 
> Anyways I have so many thoughts about this and I’d love to scream about it on my tumblr (aeskoro) if anyone cared to join!! Thanks for reading!!!


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